Ring of Életfa
by purple-peacock
Summary: I don't know what my grandmother was thinking, leaving me this crazy piece of jewelry that does things that no piece of jewelry should ever be able to do. Because of her, I have a secret agency that thinks this thing makes me a threat to the world or some such nonsense. One would think SHEILD would have more important things to worry about. And who called in the Avengers?
1. Prologue

Ring of Életfa

**Summary: I pride myself on being a happy person. Happiness is a choice; that's my mantra. But this is really pushing my limits. Seriously. I don't know what my grandmother was thinking, leaving me this crazy piece of jewelry that does things that no piece of jewelry should **_**ever **_**be able to do. And now I have a top secret agency that thinks this thing makes me a threat to the world or some such nonsense. I mean, really. I'm a college freshmen who's never so much as held a gun. One would think SHEILD would have more important things to worry about. And wait a minute; who the hell called in the Avengers? Takes place after the Avengers movie. Rated M for language, violence, and because I'm paranoid. Coulson lives!**

Coulson says that writing down my feelings on what's happened to me over the last few months will be good for me. Doing so apparently helped him out a lot when he was stabbed in the back by a psychotic demigod. Honestly, he can be such a woman sometimes. Anyway, I only agreed to do it because he promised to let me touch his Captain America trading cards. The _vintage _set. He must really care about my mental health.

So, where to begin? Typically, when one tells a story, they start from the beginning. But in this case, that would be a couple thousand years ago. We don't want to get too far ahead of ourselves, do we? I suppose a good place to start would be the day after my grandmother's funeral.

I was brooding in my room, alone. I wasn't crying; I had cried myself out hours ago. Contrary to my mood, it was a gorgeous day outside, allowing plenty of sunlight to shine through the windows, illuminating my room with bright, natural light. It infuriated me. How could the sun go on shining when the world had just ended? How could people go on living like nothing had ever happened, as if Kamilla Hart had never even existed? How would anything ever be okay again? I had no answers for these questions, yet I continued to ask them over and over. I felt like ripping my hair out. This was the first death of someone close to me, someone I really cared about, and I had no idea how to handle it. Various emotions washed over me like waves; sadness, anger, confusion, despair, helplessness, each one stronger than the last. How would I ever get over-

Oh damn, I was about to cry again. I took a deep, shuddering breath, grabbing a tissue to dab my burning eyes with as I did so. I stood up and made my way to the kitchen for some aspirin; my head was freaking killing me. I guess crying for three hours straight will do that to you. After dry swallowing the pills, I walked out of the kitchen, intending to go back to my room to brood and bask in the glory of my depression all over again, only to be stopped by my dad, who called out for me from the living room. I debated on whether or not I wanted to ignore him; I really wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone. But I knew that if he really wanted to talk to me, he would seek me out eventually. He's annoying like that sometimes. So I did what he wanted and found him in the living room, sitting on the couch. Papers of all sorts were strewn all about the coffee table in front of him. He picked up an envelope from the pile and handed it to me, wordlessly.

"What's this?"

He glanced up at me briefly, shooting me a small, sad smile, replying, "She left it for you".

I took the envelope without another word and went back to my room, gently closing the door behind me.

Looking down at the envelope, I noticed three things. First was a single word written in my grandmother's elegant handwriting; my name, Phoebe. Second, I noticed that the envelope itself was crisp and white, without so much as a crease to mar it. Obviously, this indicated that Grandmamma had written this letter (I assumed it was a letter) not long before she died. Or at least she didn't put it in an envelope until soon before she died. Either way. Third, a small lump. There was something inside the envelope other than a letter. Being the almost exceedingly curious little creature that I am, I began to open it, but a thought crossed my mind and I stopped. Three days prior she had been alive. Just three days. And now she was gone, just like that, and I would never, _ever_, see her again. I couldn't do it. I wasn't ready to handle whatever it was she had to say. I wasn't sure I would ever be. I sucked in a sharp breath and shoved the envelope into my desk's drawer. And there it stayed for a whole month.

**A/N: So, there you go. I'm not really planning on any romance in this one, but who knows? Ask and ye shall (possibly) receive. This is my first multi-chapter fic, so reviews are greatly appreciated. **


	2. Shield, But Not the One You're Thinking

**A/N: Forgot to do this last chapter. Disclaimer: I own nothing. Sad clown. :'(**

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As I mentioned before, I am by nature a curious person. Sometimes too curious. As a mater of fact, if someone told me to list out my faults, on that extensive list, curiosity would be at the top. It's a good thing I'm not a cat, or I'd be down to my last life, if not dead already. Anyway, digressing.

It is because of said curiosity that I ever opened my grandmother's letter at all. Were I a less curious person, I probably wouldn't have opened it for another couple of months, or maybe I wouldn't have opened it at all. I sometimes wish that had been the case. I will occasionally catch myself wondering how things would have played out had I never let my curiosity get the better of me. I would have most likely left the envelope to collect dust in my drawer forevermore, going on to live out my life as a happy, normal person. However, I sometimes feel that in doing so, I would also be living out my life as a happy, normal person with something missing from her life, without ever having the chance to know what it was.

In any case, it was inevitable that I would eventually open the letter, given my acute curiosity. I must have attempted to open it at least ten times during that month, but every time I sat down to do it, I thought of my poor, sweet grandmother and I would shove it back into my drawer again. Adjusting to life without her was the single most difficult thing I had ever had to do at that point, and it was for that reason that the envelope sat in my drawer for so long.

I may or may not have mentioned by now that I try to be a happy person. Grandmamma had told me since I was very little that happiness is a choice, and I quite agree with her. So despite my grief over her death, I trudged on and tried to be happy. Although I was by no means "over" her death when I opened the envelope, which turned out to be somewhat of a mixed blessing, the worst of the pain had dulled a bit, making it easier for me to finally go through with it.

I remember that it was on a Sunday. I was glad I didn't have to go to work or attend any classes that day. I spent the morning shopping and having girl time with my friends, and I got the chance to met my dad for lunch before he had to go to work. It was shaping out to be a pretty easygoing day, though I did have plenty of studying to do. On my aforementioned list of flaws, I would add, along with curiosity, "procrastination" and "laziness". So of course when I got home at about three in the afternoon with nothing to do but studying that desperately needed to be done, I grasped at any excuse I could think of to do anything else other than that. If I were to create a list of my good qualities, I would not by any means include "productive" or "good student" on said list. To do so would be blasphemy. Blasphemy, I tell you!

So while I was grasping at straws trying to find something to preoccupy myself with, I thought back to my grandmother's letter, still sitting in my desks' drawer all by it's lonesome little self. I retrieved it from my room with every intention of opening it this time, but I hesitated yet again. "Cowardice" would be another good flaw to add to my List. And yes, I do think that the many times I've referred to this thing warrants the capital "L".

Sorry, digressing. I must have argued with myself for a solid ten minutes before I finally said to myself, "Phoebe, don't be a pussy," and with that uplifting vote of confidence, I opened the envelope, being careful not to tear it anymore than I had to. Once it was open, I tilted the envelope, allowing the small object that was inside to slide into my open palm. A ring. I had expected as much. It was a simple piece of jewelry that seemed to be made of solid silver. It had a subtle shine to it, as if it had just been polished.

The sensation I felt as soon as the ring made contact with my skin is a hard one to describe. It was very subtle; if I had been a less perceptive person I may not have noticed it. It was almost as if the ring was alive, pulsating. Not only that, but it seemed to have become a part of my being, an extension to my body, if you will. It was as if it had taken on my very heartbeat, and with each throb I felt something (electricity? Magic?) course through my body.

For a moment I forgot the letter inside the envelope; my attention focused solely on the ring. I slipped it onto the ring finger on my right hand. For a moment, nothing happened. Then I got the sudden feeling that something was wrong. A heavy weight settled on my heart and a cold sensation washed over me, as if my blood had turned into ice. I quickly took the ring off. I held it in my hand, pondering. Now that I thought about it, it looked almost like a wedding band. I still to this day don't fully understand what possessed me to do what I did next. I hesitated at first, then I slowly began to slip the ring onto my left ring finger. Even as I did so, I didn't know why I was doing it, I just knew that for some reason, it felt...right.

The effect was immediate. There was no lag or hesitation as there had been when I put the ring on my right hand. And it was anything but subtle. Several things happened simultaneously. As soon as I slipped the ring on, it seemed to latch onto my finger. It was as if the ring had sprouted roots and embedded them deep into my finger. The ring emitted a bright light that filled the entire house, while at the same time emitting a shrill sound, similar to that of a sword being unsheathed, if you know what that sounds like. It was over in a matter of seconds. I remained standing there for several minutes, hyperventilating and having no earthly idea as to what had just happened. I caught sight of the envelope out of the corner of my eye and immediately reached down to grab it.

"Oh, Grandmamma," I thought, "You better have a damn good explanation for this." I extracted the letter from within the envelope and urgently began to read:

_Dear Granddaughter, _

_After knowing you your entire life, I know you have already put on the ring. This is good. I am so proud of you, and I know that you will use it well, and that you will not take the responsibilities that come with wearing the Ring of Életfa lightly. No matter what, do not betray your heritage, despite what the outcome may be. I know that you will not let me down. _

_Wishing you the best of luck in your all your endeavors, _

_Your loving Grandmamma. _

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The week after I put on the ring was, in a word, odd. If I had to pick another word, it would be hectic, since I had the misfortune of working in a flower shop on the week of Mother's Day. To me, Mother's Day was never a big deal, having grown up without one myself. I would, of course, by grandmamma a bouquet of sunflowers (both her favorite and mine) or take her out to eat, or something like that, but neither of us really thought of it as a big deal. Other people thought differently, apparently.

We were very busy the entire week at the Flower Pot. Normally, I would be working in the shop, but Dianne, the owner, had me out delivering that week. On one particularly eventful evening at around five o'clock, I was on my second to last delivery of the day. Since these last two deliveries were close to the shop, I decided I would walk, carrying the two bouquets with me.

As I walked, I thought about the ring. The Ring of Életfa, as grandmamma had called it. I had googled the term, and found plenty of information about Életfa itself, which was the "Tree of Life" in Hungarian myth, and other aspects of Hungarian mythology as well, but as far as finding any information on the Ring of Életfa goes, the search was unfruitful. I also found nothing in the local library, but I planned to search again when I got the chance. It was weird to me that I was having such trouble finding information on it. Stranger things, I suppose.

Speaking of, strange things had been happening to me since putting on the ring. It seemed to me that my senses were sharper, more enhanced. I was able to catch minute details and read from insanely far distances. I had developed acute hearing and heard many a conversation that I wish I hadn't. That wasn't all; my reflexes were almost inhuman. This I discovered one morning at the shop. Dianne always had some sort of flower arrangement on display for the customers up front. A woman had come in with a young girl, and the kid, too young to know any better, got a little too curious about the flowers and accidentally knocked them over. I noticed out of the corner of my eye and was across the room in just seconds, catching the vase a split second before it hit the ground. Luckily, the woman was preoccupied and didn't even notice, and the girl wasn't saying anything. Crisis averted. I remember wondering if the ring acted as some sort of good luck charm. If only.

I was so caught up in my own thoughts that when I went to cross the street, I broke the first rule of crossing streets that is ingrained in your head from an early age; I didn't look before I crossed. It wasn't until I heard horns blaring that I noticed the black Mercedes coming at me. My eyes met those of the driver's, a middle-aged, slightly balding man. I froze, suddenly wishing for something to protect me from the inevitable collision. Something, a shield, _anything _would do. And suddenly, I had my wish. Seemingly from out of nowhere, a shield of pure, solid silver was secured around my left arm. It was surprisingly light weight. Thinking fast, I braced myself for the blow, planting my feet into the ground. When it finally came, there was a loud crash, the sound of crunching metal rang in my ears. It felt as if a train had it me head-on. But I was still standing. I was okay. I slowly lowered the shield, scared and flabbergasted. The bouquets I was supposed to be delivering laid forgotten at my feet. Suddenly, the shield began to shrink, and before my eyes I watched it morph back into the ring, wrapping itself faithfully back around my left ring finger. _Well, damn. _

A loud thud drew my attention away from the ring. I looked up, first noticing the car. To put it lightly, it was in bad shape. If I were a literature major, I would call that a litote. Since I'm not, I'll just call it an "understatement to the max." The front end of the car was all but destroyed. It looked to me as if it had run into a wall. There was broken glass all over the place and the front left tire had come off and was now rolling leisurely across the street, as if it was in no hurry to get to where it was going. I'm sure I would have found it funny had the situation not been so terrifying. But now was not the time for levity. I looked up at the driver, praying to whatever or whoever may have been listening that he was okay. The man slowly lifted his head. For the second time, our eyes met.

And that, my dears, is how I met Agent Coulson.

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**A/N: To the one person who followed, thank you. You are literally the only reason I updated. I hope I don't let you down! I know there hasn't been much dialogue yet, but no worries, it's coming soon. **


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